And When He Falleth
by wildsky
Summary: Owain/Morgana. For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been'. Set in Season 1.


**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em (unless they're originals). Please don't sue me. It's ****so**** not worth it.**

**A/N: **This is an Owain/Morgana fic set between The Poisoned Chalice and Excalibur. There's a vignette for each episode. This story is unbetaed so all mistakes are mine, mine, mine.

**And When He Falleth**

For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been!'

John Greenleaf Whittier

"It's poisoned!"

Morgana surged to her feet, knife in hand, as the manservant Merlin crumpled onto the floor. Arthur was at his side in a moment, the guards circling Lord Bayard and his men with spears at the ready. Red capes swirled in the periphery of her vision as the Knights blocked the exits, the soft chink of mail the only hint that one of their number had appeared at her left to shield her.

Gaius, Arthur and Gwen spirited Merlin away and Uther stalked forward with ice-cold intent to glower at Bayard for his betrayal. Morgana moved to circle the table and a gloved hand caught her about the arm, holding her back. She turned to issue a stinging set-down and found the youngest of Camelot's Knights at her elbow, his eyes not on her but on the room as a whole. He was tracking the motions of the foreign servants who were either scurrying to their masters or trying to disappear altogether as the soldiers came at them.

The reprimand died on Morgana's lips and "I think that hand might be of more use on the hilt of your sword" emerged instead. Sir Owain's lips twitched even as his eyes continued their appraisal of the surrounding threats and it took Morgana a moment to recognise the unintentional double meaning he'd picked up on. Her green eyes narrowed at the knight. "Did your lordly ears hear something amusing?"

"Did your ladylike mouth say something amusing?" Owain replied in an innocent, quiet tone that belied the upward quirk of his lips. Then Uther ordered the guards to take Bayard and his vassals to the dungeons and Owain's humour vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. The King's attention had turned to his ward.

"Morgana, you will return to your chambers immediately," Uther ordered. "This is no place for you. Sir Owain, you will escort her."

"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself," Morgana argued, her knuckles white as her grip on the knife tightened. "I don't need to be sent to my chambers like a child to hide from the likes of Lord Bayard." Her gimlet gaze found Owain, daring him to say something – anything – to contradict her. To his credit, he remained silent, merely watching the tug-of-war taking place between liege and lady.

"This is dangerous and no concern of yours. You will obey me," Uther said curtly. "Sir Owain, do your duty." And the King turned away without a backward glance, leaving Morgana fuming in his wake and left with no choice but to turn in a flurry of silk skirts and stalk out of the Great Hall with her nominated nursery maid following close behind.

"I can find my own way back to my chambers," Morgana bit out with forced civility once they were out of earshot of the Hall. "Your services won't be required."

"Perhaps not but I don't think the King would agree that the walk there and back is a total of twelve seconds," Owain replied logically. "If it makes you feel better, you're doing the leading. I've no idea where your chambers are."

Morgana glanced at him and caught a glimmer of amusement in his expression yet again. "So I could direct us to any apartments in the castle and you'd be none the wiser? It seems that my escort might leave me anywhere, helpless against the invaders." Her voice dripped with sweet sarcasm and Owain chuckled.

"Hardly helpless if that little display was anything to go by."

Morgana raised a challenging eyebrow in his direction. "I suppose you're one of those old-fashioned types who think women ought to cower in a corner and wait to be rescued."

"Not at all," Owain said amiably, "but I've not known many women whose first instinct when all hell breaks loose is to arm themselves and rush towards the action." Owain regarded her with a flicker of respect. "Or to stand up to a King."

Morgana smiled slightly. "I can't say I've known many knights whose first instinct is to have a laugh in the middle of a crisis situation."

"It sounds like you haven't met many knights with a sense of humour," Owain observed, looking both surprised and pleased that she'd broached the subject. "I half expected to get slapped. My father often chided me for not keeping a straight face."

"Slapping can be arranged if you feel it's necessary," Morgana smirked. "I wouldn't want you to think I was letting you off easy."

"I can assure you, my lady, that I'm heartily ashamed of myself." Owain's eyes were dancing as he lied through his teeth.

Morgana stubbornly squashed down the smile that was forming. Oh, he was a cheeky one...and a good judge of who would be willing to share the joke if their current conversation was any indication. He was right – many women would have slapped him outright and refused to acknowledge the brief exchange in the Great Hall.

"As long as you've learned your lesson," Morgana said archly and was rewarded with a boyish, lopsided grin. Such a nice change from the stiff-upper-lip knights who pranced about with their chests puffed out.

"Oh, I'll be sure to keep my lordly ears from picking up anything untoward," Owain replied smoothly and Morgana decided that if there was no way to persuade Uther that an escort was unnecessary, at least she hadn't been saddled with a bore.

m . e . r . l . i . n

"Sir Lancelot!"

Arthur's toast was met with boisterous applause and cheers and Morgana clapped along with the crowd as the Prince and his newest knight lapped up the happy atmosphere. The musicians played on, picking up the pace as a few couples began stepping and twirling through a dance that had gained popularity in Camelot of late.

"That's quite a gown you're wearing, my lady." The quiet voice came from behind her and Morgana knew who it was before he came into her line of vision. Sure enough, Sir Owain bowed as custom dictated and grinned up at her.

"It's quite a party so it seemed appropriate," Morgana replied lightly, rather pleased that he'd attended. So few of the knights were capable of talking to a woman without becoming insufferable. Owain's presence promised an end to the tedium of overly polite chit-chat.

"And you always like to be appropriate, of course," Owain chuckled.

"Just as you like being solemn, naturally," Morgana smiled mischievously, their first conversation not yet forgotten. "Tell me, have you scandalised any of the nobility with your un-lordly thoughts tonight?"

"Sadly no," Owain said cheerfully, "but it's early yet."

Morgana couldn't hold back a laugh. "You disappoint me. I'd hoped for some entertainment."

"Well, perhaps a dance would hold you over until I can oblige you?" Owain offered, holding out his hand with a flourish. "I promise not to tread on your toes."

"It's not your feet I'm worried about. It's your tongue that gets away from you," Morgana shot back, saw an answering twinkle blossom across his features and realized she'd done it again.

"It seems I'm not the only one with that problem, Lady Morgana," Owain teased, trying and failing to keep his expression in check. The crooked smile made another appearance and Morgana beamed at him ruefully as she placed her hand in his.

There was something to be said for a good sense of humour and a lopsided smile, Morgana decided as he guided her through the dance with consummate skill.

m . e . r . l . i . n

"Look what's just arrived for you," Gwen announced happily as she came through the door with a beautiful gift of white flowers cradled in her hands. The blooms were exquisite, surrounded by their natural greenery and Morgana was smiling before she could stop herself.

"Who are they from?" Morgana asked, accepting the gift with pleasure. The blossoms were clearly fresh, their petals still gleaming with the morning's dew and Morgana appreciatively breathed in their exquisite scent.

"I don't know," Gwen replied, a speculative light in her dark eyes. "Maybe Arthur?" She gave Morgana a sidelong look, eyebrows rising.

Morgana rolled her eyes at the mere notion of the high and oh-so-mighty Arthur deigning to do anything thoughtful on his own. "How disappointing."

"Why? Who would you like them to be from?" Gwen asked in a much flatter tone, genuinely mystified at her mistress' attitude. Morgana couldn't blame Gwen for being confused. It was true that she and Arthur had a push-pull dynamic that some had interpreted as attraction but...

Owain's face leapt to Morgana's mind, unbidden but no less welcome. Blue eyes and a teasing grin prompted a small flutter in her stomach. It wasn't often that she met a knight she genuinely liked.

"I don't know," Morgana lied with an artful moue of her lips. "Tall, dark stranger?"

Then Gwen reclaimed the flowers to put them in water and Morgana resolutely shook all thoughts of romance from her mind. It was three days before Morgana emerged from her chambers after that night, pale and shaky underneath the fabric of her gown. One step outside of her door and she found Sir Owain standing to her right, clearly on guard duty. His face held no hint of humour as it skimmed over her, taking in the bloodless pallor of her skin. He seemed completely unaware of Gwen, who was supporting her with an arm linked through Morgana's.

"My lady," he greeted her and Morgana dredged up the energy to give him a weary smile. "I hope you're feeling better."

"Yes, thank you," she nodded, hoping her voice didn't sound as feeble as she suspected. She took in his slightly rumpled appearance. "Have you been here all night?"

Owain's lips finally quirked upwards. "Maybe a bit longer. I was worried the healers might be starving you of entertainment. I thought I ought to be on hand in case you wanted to break out, seeing as how I'm sure they're treating you like glass."

Morgana's smile took on a playful quality, relieved that he'd guessed she hated convalescing. "You were worried, were you?"

"It'd be a terrible shame if Camelot lost such a sharp wit," Owain conceded impishly. "You wouldn't want me to be bored, now would you?"

Morgana' smile was irrepressible. She liked the idea that he would miss her. "Certainly not. In fact, I might give myself over to proving my brain is every bit as good as new if you'll walk me up to the battlements for some fresh air. Poor Gwen here hasn't had a break since I fell ill."

"Oh no, my lady, that's really not necessary –" Gwen began to protest but Morgana had already slipped her free hand through the arm Owain immediately offered.

"Nonsense, Gwen, you've hardly slept if Gaius and Merlin are to be believed," Morgana said firmly, determined to make it outside on her own two feet and prove that she would be better in no time. "Please, go home. Get some sleep. I don't want to see you before tomorrow, all right?"

"I promise that your lady is in good hands," Owain assured Gwen. "I'll see to it that she's well taken care of in your absence."

Left with no choice, Gwen subsided and curtseyed as the two nobles turned away, keeping a slow and easy pace that Morgana could manage. Morgana was completely unaware that Gwen wasn't quite out of earshot when she gave Owain a sidelong look and cautioned him:

"I'm not in your hands yet, Sir Owain."

Owain laughed softly and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Now who's being scandalous?"

m . e . r . l . i . n

Morgana's knuckles were white as she fisted her hands and stared out of the corridor window, incensed by her confrontation with the beautiful Sophia Tír Mòr. She was so caught up in her ruminations that she didn't sense Owain's presence until he'd come to a halt by her side.

"Is everything all right, my lady?"

Morgana jumped, startled. "Sir Owain!" She took a deep breath, looking annoyed at both herself and him. "You caught me off-guard."

Owain studied her for a moment. It wasn't like Morgana to be taken by surprise. He took in the strained expression, the shadows under her eyes, and made an educated guess.

"Bad night's sleep?"

Morgana smirked but it held none of the usual spark that lit her eyes. "My sleeping habits are none of your business." She knew he wasn't buying her attempt at their usual banter when he managed to keep a straight face. No smart comeback designed to make her blush, his customary joviality totally absent. "I had a rather... disturbing dream," she admitted. "That's all."

"Disturbing dreams don't generally have the power to make people tremble by daylight," Owain mused. "You certainly never struck me as the type to jump at nothing. What was it about?"

Morgana regarded him with a degree of scepticism. "You're interested in my dream?"

"I thought I'd made it very clear that I'm interested in everything about you," Owain replied calmly, as if he made such a proclamation daily and had not plainly said so for the first time but a moment ago. He held Morgana's gaze, blue levelled against green, and it struck her that he was being completely, utterly serious.

Butterflies took up sudden residence in her belly, wings fluttering relentlessly beneath her skin. Since she had come of age, many had come to pay court to Lady Morgana of Camelot. Few had ever appealed to her and Sir Owain was the only one who had ever dared to openly flirt and tease and incite her to do the same. Like an equal.

"I dreamed that Arthur drowned," Morgana confessed softly. "He was floating under the water."

Owain sucked in a breath in sudden understanding. "You saw someone you care about die."

"I know it was only a nightmare. People keep telling me it was just a nightmare," Morgana said through clenched teeth, "but I can't..."

"It frightened you," Owain finished for her and Morgana nodded stiffly, reluctantly. "Perhaps you should talk to Arthur," he suggested. "It might make you feel better, seeing that he's still here."

"Perhaps," Morgana whispered thoughtfully.

"Morgana." She looked up at the sound of her name, for it was the first time she'd heard it from Owain's lips without her rank preceding it. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Morgana smiled in return, gratified that she'd not been told to hush or forget it or put it aside. "You already have, Owain," she told him, taking the same liberty with his name that he'd taken with hers. "You listened."

"I will listen to anything you have to say," Owain promised, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. They drifted across her knuckles, surprisingly soft, and Morgana squeezed his hand gently before she released him lest anyone see the exchange. Her skin was still tingling from the touch.

"Thank you."

m . e . r . l . i . n

Owain was waiting outside her door when Morgana left her chambers in her finest gown, her long dark hair tamed and bound up. She met his eyes for the briefest moment before his dropped lower, skimming across her throat.

She knew what he was looking for. She had no idea how he'd even found out but Owain's fingers came up to brush across the fading bruises that had been left by Uther's hand. Apparently she and Gwen had not done as good a job of concealing them with the ointments as they'd thought.

"The King did this?" Owain asked, his blue eyes crystal hard. Morgana watched him with a hint of wonder for she had seen him wear many expressions but ferocity was a new look for him.

"I angered him." A simple statement of fact.

"By helping the boy," Owain stated and she nodded, curling her hand around his to stop the caress on her throat that was momentarily making her knees weak. Such an innocent gesture, gossamer-light, but it was gentling her and Morgana needed her armour about her tonight.

"Surely as a Knight of Camelot, you must agree with him," Morgana pointed out, squaring her shoulders but Owain's jaw tightened and he shook his head.

"As a Knight I'm sworn to obey," Owain conceded, "but no man should ever harm a child. I would have helped you if you'd asked, Morgana."

Morgana swallowed hard, inwardly cursing his timing. She softened whenever Owain was near and she couldn't afford that, not with a meal with Uther looming on the horizon. A meal that would provide a necessary distraction.

"Then I ask now," Morgana said quietly, still holding his hand in hers as she moved closer. "To help the boy, I need to go to Uther. Right now."

Owain looked into her eyes and after a moment's consideration tucked her arm into his and began escorting her towards the King's dining chamber. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"You can believe that I'm stronger than I look," Morgana told him, wishing she could talk with him longer and under better circumstances.

Owain smiled that lopsided smile that made her breath hitch. "Oh, I already know that, my lady." His eyes twinkled at her, his unquestioning faith buoying her as nothing else had over the past few days. "I've known that from the moment you picked up that blade in the Great Hall. I think you intended to fight Bayard into the dungeon yourself with nothing but a dinner knife."

"Oh, I wouldn't have minded laying into a few of his guards," Morgana smirked. "It's such a shame to let the men have all the fun all the time."

"There's more than one way to joust, Morgana, and I much prefer sparring with you," Owain informed her and she wasn't entirely sure if that was meant as a jest or not. "You can hold your own against anyone, be they King or commoner. I admire that."

They stopped short of the turn that led towards Uther's dining chamber.

"I'd best enter alone," Morgana informed him and Owain nodded, relinquishing her arm without argument. "I don't want to risk Uther's fury coming down on anyone else."

"I think he should fear your fury," Owain said truthfully and brushed his lips across her cheek. "I'll be nearby."

Morgana smiled gratefully and watched him go before turning her focus inward and dragging up every bad memory she had, forcing herself to the point of tears. Uther would be more inclined to believe if she looked the part of the remorseful ward.

So Morgana walked into Uther Pendragon's presence with wetness marring the cheek that Owain's lips had touched only minutes before.

m . e . r . l . i . n

"I, Sir Owain, accept your challenge."

The words stopped Morgana's blood cold and she stared, a hand fluttering over her heart, as Owain stepped towards the Black Knight with implacable resolve written across his features.

"Single combat. Noon tomorrow. To the death." The Black Knight's voice was chilling, his helmet giving no hint of his face or feeling. The jet black horse pranced beneath its master and turned at his command, disappearing through the window it had destroyed.

Morgana could see Owain's face, the gravity of what he had just done lending age to his boyish features as the Crown Prince turned on him with an incredulous expression.

"Are you mad?"

"Are you?" Owain shot back, glaring at Arthur. "Would you risk dying in single combat the day after being anointed Crown Prince? I accepted the challenge. It's done." His eyes flickered towards Morgana, who still felt oddly frozen by what she'd just witnessed.

"Arthur," Uther said grimly. "We must abide by the Knight's Code."

"And I must prepare," Owain decided. "With your permission, Your Majesty, I'll retire."

Uther inclined his head positively and Owain strode through the great double doors, all too aware of Morgana following in his footsteps.

"What have you done?" she demanded as soon as they reached the corridor.

"Your absence will be marked, Morgana," Owain warned. To be seen chasing after him in the open would leave her vulnerable to speculation.

"I don't care," Morgana growled as she caught up to him and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop. "Take it back."

"I can't."

"You have to!"

"Why?" Owain demanded in his turn. "To withdraw from a challenge is an act of cowardice."

"It's an act of intelligence," Morgana argued, her temper flaring. "It's an act of someone who wants to live beyond tomorrow."

"Have you so little faith in my ability?" Owain retorted. "I'm as skilled as any other Knight under Arthur's command. My chances are no worse than anyone else's."

"Maybe so," Morgana said tautly, "but my regard for you is higher. Do you think I want to see you hurt? Or killed? I can't believe you're risking yourself like this."

"Would you prefer that Arthur had picked up the gauntlet?" Owain challenged her. "That's what would have happened if I hadn't done it."

Morgana swallowed down the urge to throttle him. "Arthur has fought in mortal combat before."

"And once upon a time he experienced his first fight to the death as well," Owain reminded her. "It's something every knight has to face and it's my turn. That's all."

For a heartbeat, Morgana wished he wasn't so damn honourable. She was wished he wasn't so brave and so sure of himself. She wished that she didn't feel anything for him at all, that she could watch from the stands with no more concern than anyone else.

"You know how I feel about watching someone I care about die," Morgana said softly and Owain closed his eyes as he remembered that day by the window when they'd talked of her nightmare.

Owain reached up to stroke a finger along the ebony hair falling over Morgana's shoulder. For so long they'd been dancing, stepping forward and back in a subtle courtship that he'd tried so hard to keep just between the two of them. She had so much spirit. Moving faster than she was prepared for would have ended badly.

"I've no intention of leaving you, Morgana," Owain soothed her, lifting her hand to press a lingering kiss to the backs of her fingers. Her stomach flipped. She could feel him smiling against her skin. "Everything's going to be fine."

Morgana bit back a denial, knowing by the set of his shoulders and the look on his face that it would be useless. Instead, she let him walk away and stalked toward her chambers, her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her ribs the entire way.

Now her only option was to battle it out with Arthur.

m . e . r . l . i . n

Morgana wanted to run to him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to drive Owain's sword into the Black Knight's back and watch him fall.

She did none of those things. Morgana sat in the stands, her lungs seizing as the crimson favour she had gifted to Owain fluttered across the ground that was now stained with his blood. She watched the Black Knight throw down his gauntlet yet again, leaving Owain in the dust as if he were nothing.

Morgana hurried back to her chambers afterwards, setting a pace that forced Gwen to jog to keep up with her, ladylike behaviour be damned. Gwen called after her and found the door shut in her face when she tried to follow Morgana into her rooms.

Morgana sank down onto her bed and let the tears fall, mourning all that she had shared with him and all that might have been.


End file.
